


Darling, It's Cold Outside

by misura



Category: A Place of Greater Safety - Hilary Mantel
Genre: Fade to Black, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-22 05:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16591775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: "I suppose you might stay the night," Robespierre said, thinking out loud. Once voiced though, the idea held a certain appeal, even logic.





	Darling, It's Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reine_des_corbeaux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/gifts).



It wasn't until Camille suppressed a yawn (or pretended to suppress a yawn) that Robespierre realized the hour. He told himself it was irrational to experience any guilt - but you know what Camille is like, he told himself. You know how lost he can get in an argument, a speech, a piece of writing.

"Sorry," he said (and what good was an apology going to do now?). "I - you'll be wanting to go home now, I expect."

There were bells ringing in the distance - an absurd coincidence, or possibly (likely?) proof that Camille had faked his yawn, by way of a social cue.

"May I count on your prayers for me not to get mugged or otherwise assaulted in the streets?" Camille smiled, as if the criminal activities that occurred in nighttime Paris were a source of amusement to him.

Robespierre fretted. "It's that bad?" There were so many things to keep track of, nowadays. He sometimes felt overwhelmed, helpless to accomplish anything worthwhile at all.

"Not at all," Camille said. "I only wanted to hear your answer."

Robespierre frowned. "You'll be safe, then?"

"Likely." Camille shrugged, unconcerned. There was an unwillingness, still, in Camille, to see the worst of people, to take a step back, evaluate the situation and cry: conspiracy! It worried Robespierre, yet at the same time, it humbled and even pleased him.

Let Robespierre be the one to safeguard Camille: was that not how it had always been, from the beginning? Let Camille keep his innocence, if it made him happy. Where was the harm?

"I suppose you might stay the night," Robespierre said, thinking out loud. Once voiced though, the idea held a certain appeal, even logic. "True, it's probably a little less comfortable than what you're used to ... we might work on the speech a little more, tomorrow morning. Get an early start."

Camille stared at him through half-lidded eyes. "Coming from you, that's a bit surprising."

"It is? Why?"

"People who proposition me are usually quicker to make their interest known," Camille said. "Also, they tend to drop hints. Rather unsubtle ones, most of the time. Somehow, they seem to think that when I ignore them, it's only because I'm oblivious, rather than that I'm simply not interested."

Robespierre sighed. Camille got moods like this, every now and then, when he'd say and do things that any of his friends would know better than to take seriously.

Camille claimed some people simply had no sense of humor. Robespierre thought that was an oversimplification of the problem. Some people simply had small minds, narrow minds. Closed minds. Some people simply did not like Camille. Some people enjoyed smearing Camille's reputation with lies.

"I wish you would take this a bit more seriously."

"Yes, you're right. There's your reputation to consider as well," Camille said. "Although given how the Duplays look at you, I dare say you could have me bent naked over their kitchen table, and they'd still refuse to believe you were anything less than a saint. Mind, I don't think they would extend the same courtesy to me."

"I've upset you." Camille was sensitive. Robespierre mentally went over their conversation, trying to spot where he'd gone wrong.

"Don't take all the credit. I'm perfectly capable of upsetting myself."

"You should sleep. Rest." Robespierre hesitated. Had people actually been propositioning Camille? "If you think the streets might be unsafe at this time of night, please stay."

"One of these days, you're going to make someone a perfect, if nagging wife," Camille said.

"Lucile does not worry?" Robespierre preferred not to pry in other people's marriages. What would he know about such things, after all? Still, he liked Lucile. She seemed to love and value Camille as he deserved. Surely she worried.

"Lucile is an intelligent woman," Camille said. "Unlike you, she knows better."

"Well, I'm not your wife," Robespierre said pragmatically.

"Thank the Goddess of Reason for that small mercy. If you want me to stay, I'll stay," Camille added. "If you want me to leave, I'll leave. It's all the same to me, really."

"Stay, then."

"As you wish." Camille's expression was hard to read. Robespierre thought he looked pleased, though. "Should I take off my clothes?"

Robespierre managed not to sigh. "Yes. Probably. You'll be more comfortable that way."

"And you?" Camille asked.

Claiming he wanted to finish some work would likely be counter-productive, Robespierre realized. He'd have to play along, then: a small enough price to pay for the pleasure of Camille's company and friendship.

Camille had been right about the Duplays, really. Robespierre would explain everything to them tomorrow morning at the breakfast table, and that would be enough. There would be no trouble, no gossip. The Duplays were good people.

"Ha!" Camille said, looking a little smug and a little pleased. "Not quite a saint after all, are you?"

"I never claimed to be a saint." Robespierre folded his shirt. "Even if I were, what is sinful about this? Plenty of people out there will be sharing a bed, blankets, whatever they can find to stay warm and keep from freezing to death." It shamed him, how little had changed, how little he had been able to do so far to improve people's lives.

All of his hard work, all of the new laws, and people still died from not having enough food, or firewood, or clothes to keep them warm.

"Their reason isn't going to be ours, though, is it?" Camille's eyes were bright. "You think any self-respecting lawyer would be able to make that argument and get it to stick?"

"It's been a long time since we were lawyers." Robespierre thought, would I have been happy, if I had remained only a lawyer? Would I have remained close friends with Camille?

"I like my current life better," Camille said. "I suppose nothing makes one feel as alive as knowing that people want you dead."

Robespierre wanted to ask, Who wants you dead? Tell me their names, so that I can stand against them. Camille had put a hand on his chest, though, and the sensation distracted him. He was not, Robespierre reflected, used to being touched. Generally speaking, he disliked it.

Touch implied familiarity, intimacy. A closeness of the body as well as the mind.

"I got a bit tired of waiting for your next order," Camille murmured. Absurdly, Robespierre was reminded of the nice young woman with whom he had, briefly, reached an understanding once.

He had no notion of what had been in her mind, what convictions and beliefs she had held.

She had been experienced - that was probably what she had in common with Camille. A knowledge of men's bodies, men's pleasures, moreso, perhaps, than of her own.

Camille would not have that conflict of interests.

"I wasn't ... it was not my intention to give you orders," Robespierre said. He tried to separate himself from his body, to keep his mind clear. "Camille." The word 'stop' failed to pass his lips. He did not want Camille to stop, if this was what Camille wanted.

"Good," Camille said. "I don't at all like being told what to do."

"Trust me. No one who has known you for more than five minutes is unaware of that."

Camille grinned. "You think it really takes that long? I might need to work on that. I do so hate to give people the wrong impression."

You love giving people the wrong impression, Robespierre thought. You love to shock people and make them ascribe vices to you that you do not possess.

"Max," Camille said. "If you're going to turn me down, do you think you could hurry up with it? Beyond a certain, fast-approaching point, a rejection will leave us both very embarrassed." He paused. "You more than me, possibly. Still, you're my friend. It's never pleasant to be rejected by a friend."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Robespierre asked, frowning slightly.

"Not personal one, no, but one can imagine," Camille said. "Someone somewhere no doubt has been rejected by a friend, and found their night and possibly their life ruined by it. Surely there's a play about that - one of the Greek tragedies, maybe? Although those usually involved accidental incest and patricide and the like, which isn't my kind of thing at all. If I'm going to have sex with or kill someone, you can be sure that I'll be doing it on purpose."

"I'm not going to reject you," Robespierre said. "However, you do need sleep. Rest. This is all very pleasant and nice, but we cannot simply do things because they please us. We have responsibilities." He guiltily thought of facing the Duplays at breakfast - should he lie to them? The idea was distasteful, repugnant. They had taken him in, protected him; they deserved better from him.

"Pleasant and nice," Camille said. "Honestly, Max."

Robespierre wondered what adjectives Camille might have found more agreeable. "You can be quick, can't you? We can have slow ... some other time." If there ever was one.

"Better," Camille said. "Fine, then. Take me to bed. I'm yours."

If anyone belonged to anyone else, Robespierre felt that surely, it was he who belonged to Camille, but this seemed a poor time to argue and besides, perhaps Camille meant for it to be a mutual thing, a mutual claim he and Robespierre had on one another.

Still, "Both of us belong to the ideals of the Revolution before anything or anyone else."

"Remind me to gag you next time we do this," Camille said. "It can only serve to improve the mood."


End file.
